Finding Alice (21 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he continues to drive toward a tall brick building that looks much too large to be a private home. He’s only going about fifteen miles per hour; I’m sure I could easily survive the fall.

“Where are you taking me?” I think I might actually be shrieking now, but I no longer care about games or pretense. He stops the car in the middle of the driveway and turns to look at me.

“This is the Golden Home,” he explains in a calm voice. “It’s where I work. I intern here with Dr. Golden, and I was supposed to come up here to help his wife decorate for the—”

“But
why
are you bringing me here?” I demand as tears fill my eyes.

“To
help
me.” He looks slightly hurt. “Did you think I was bringing you up here for some other reason?”

I glare at him. “I know you’re trying to get me away from your aunt. My mother probably called you and told you I’m crazy. Or maybe it was Mrs. Knoll telling you that I’m possessed, or Pastor John or—”

Simon reaches over and puts his hand on my arm. “Look, Alice. I suspected that you might be dealing with some, uh, problems. But that is
not
why I brought you up here. Honest. I work here. And I need to help get the place decorated before the party tonight.” He looks me in the eyes now, and I notice that he has long, dark eyelashes behind his thick lenses. “I just thought you might enjoy getting out of Faye’s little feline house and doing something different for a change.”

I take in a deep breath and tell myself that perhaps I’m overreacting, that perhaps Simon can be trusted, but even so I don’t believe a word of it.

“You fool!” shrieks Amelia, and I cringe and slump down in the seat.

“Are you okay?”

I just shrug, wondering who is really worse, Simon or Amelia? Maybe I should just take my chances. “I guess so.”

He puts his car back into Drive and proceeds toward the building. “I promise you, Alice, I’ll take you straight home as soon as we’re done. With your help it should take only a couple of hours. Julie is going to help too. She’s Dr. Golden’s wife, and she’s really nice. I think you’ll like her.”

I just roll my eyes and shake my head. I want to say “whatever” but know that will sound childish and immature. Yet a part of me doesn’t even care anymore. I figure if I’m so stupid that I don’t know
who can and cannot be trusted—whether it’s Faye or Simon, who both seem to have betrayed me, or even Amelia, who’s always yelling at me—well, then maybe I deserve to be locked up.

He parks the car and waits for me to get out. Finally I do, telling myself just to keep playing the stupid game. Simon says, Simon says … if I do as he says, maybe it will go better for me.

We enter some sort of foyer or lobby with marble floors the color of fresh butter and a large circular rug with a geometric pattern in the center. Several comfortable looking chairs are arranged in a corner, next to some large potted plants, and there are windows all around.

“You’re here,” calls a woman’s voice. We are met by a tall brunette who appears to be in her forties, but she’s not wearing a uniform. “And you brought help. Great.”

“This is Alice, Julie.”

She smiles and shakes my hand, and I manage to say something that sounds vaguely like a greeting, although I can’t be sure. But the whole time I am looking over her shoulder, expecting a burly orderly to appear—someone who will help to subdue me, perhaps aided by a nurse who will pull out a hypodermic needle and give me a shot in the rump. Then together they will get me safely locked in my padded cell. But no such persons appear.

Instead we are led into a spacious and well-lit room with wooden floors that glow with a warm golden finish. Large, expensive-looking Oriental carpets are placed here and there, and, as in the lobby, a number of potted plants stand guard along the bay of tall windows. At one end of the room is a large rock fireplace with a carved wooden mantel. Next to the fireplace is a huge evergreen tree that goes nearly to the top of the open-beamed ceiling, which I guess to be at least
fifteen feet. Next to the tree is a ladder, and it appears that someone has already been putting on a string of lights.

Several chairs and sofas have been nicely arranged into small groupings, sort of like you’d see in a ritzy hotel. Four wooden tables with upholstered chairs wait nearby, as if they’re inviting you to sit down and play a game of cards. A couple of these tables have large plastic crates on top.

“I had Jack bring the decorations down earlier this morning,” explains Julie. “I don’t know why he planned the trip to the zoo today. He knows that we usually decorate the party with everyone here, and—”

“It’s my fault,” says Simon. “A friend of mine who works at the zoo offered us these free passes, and I took him up on it. I totally forgot about the date of the party.”

She smiles. “Well, that’s okay. Everyone was so excited about the trip. Did you hear that Andora just had her baby?”

“The elephant?” I ask, amazed that I can remember this bit of trivia, but I think I recall hearing something about it on Faye’s radio news the other day.

“Yes.” Julie nods as she opens a box. “It’s a boy. I can’t remember his name, but they say he’s healthy and doing fine.”

Before long, it is just as Simon has promised, and I am helping him decorate for what appears to be an honest-to-goodness Christmas party. I feel a bit guilty for my overreaction, but I’m still not convinced this isn’t just an elaborate setup for my benefit.

“I’m so glad you brought help along,” says Julie as she pulls out a long strand of gold tinsel. “I’m already short-handed in the kitchen today, and there’s still so much to be done.”

“Don’t worry. We can handle it out here,” Simon says. Then he winks at me as I open a box of shiny red glass balls. “I have a feeling that Alice is pretty good at this decorating business.”

“Great. As you can see, I’ve got the lights pretty much on.”

“Cool. We’ll take it from here.”

She smiles. “Then I’ll get back to the kitchen.”

Like a little kid on Christmas morning, I open box after box of pretty ornaments and decorations. I actually squeal with delight a couple of times, and I love arranging the glass balls so that they are spaced adequately apart. I find a box that’s filled with big red candles and ribbons and artificial greenery and ask Simon if he thinks I should do something on the mantel. I recall an arrangement that I saw in a magazine once.

“Go for it!” he says with a grin. “I’m not really very good at this myself. I’m mostly up here out of guilt because of the zoo trip.”

“Who are the people—I mean the ones who went to the zoo?”

“The residents.”

“Residents?” I’m playing the game again.

“Yeah. This is a treatment center for the psychologically challenged.”

“Psychologically challenged?” I frown as I set a red candle in the center of the mantel, then step back to see how it looks.

“Dr. Golden doesn’t use words like
disease
or
illness
or
disorder
. You know what I mean?”

I don’t answer him. Instead I pretend that I’m focusing my full attention on setting more candles along the mantel. Still, I wonder what he means. I remember how Dr. Thornton made such a point
of telling me I had a sickness. He said I had to accept my illness as a disability in order to get better.

“Dr. Golden feels that we all must play a role in getting ourselves healthy, and he runs this place with the goal of teaching people how to handle their challenges in positive ways. In other words, he gives his patients the tools they need to live independent and successful lives.”

Back at the box for greenery now, I hear what Simon is saying, and while I don’t understand everything, what I do understand sounds too good to be true. Naturally, this worries me. I try not to let on as I drape the artificial greens around the candles on the mantel. Then I lace the pretty silk ribbon in and out and get completely caught up in my creation. I suspect that Simon is speaking to me again, but I am unable to focus on him or hear his words. I don’t want to. Before long he seems to be caught up in hanging his long strands of tinsel around the tree. This is a relief. I go back to the boxes and find a few odd ornaments that I now stick here and there beside the candles. One small porcelain angel really captures my attention, and I place this close to the center, then step back to look.

“Wow, that’s really pretty.” Simon is standing beside me now. “I had no idea you were so gifted at this.”

I shake my head. “Me neither.”

“How about doing something like that on those tables?” he suggests, pointing to the game tables and coffee tables throughout the room. “That’d really brighten up the place.”

So I go around and put a few greens, candles, ribbons, and ornaments here and there, and finally the room looks festive. I can’t help
but smile as I look around with a strange sense of pride. I am amazed that I’m doing this. Here I expected to be locked up and drugged by now. I sigh and turn around to see how the tree is coming.

“That looks nice,” I say as I walk over and pick up a box of ornaments. “Do you want me to hand you some of these for the top?”

“Yeah, thanks.” And so I stand at the foot of the ladder and hand him ornaments, and I wonder how it is that I’ve never done anything like this before. And I’m surprised that I think this is fun.

“About the residents,” I begin as I hand him a brass rocking horse. “Are they locked up against their will?”

“No. Patients are only admitted willingly. You can’t just drop someone off here without his consent.”

“But what about the gates, the fence?”

“Residents can come and go as they like, although they have to comply with Dr. Golden’s rules.” He reaches for the red elf I am holding up for him. “The security is only to keep people out.”

“To keep people out?”

“Yeah, it probably sounds weird, but sometimes there are family members or friends of the patients who aren’t too helpful in the recovery process. That and the occasional curious gapers from the press, you know.”

“The press?” I echo, aware of our previous game.

“Well, what Dr. Golden is doing is fairly unusual. Some of his psychiatric peers are suspicious about his methods.”

“What are his methods?” I ask as I hand him a flocked reindeer.

“It’s not that he doesn’t believe in using medication, because there are some cases where it’s required. But even then he uses meds
along with a lot of therapy and counseling. Mostly he’s trying to teach patients to retrain their ways of thinking. In essence to heal themselves, with help. Dr. Golden believes in healing the whole person, not just the brain. His treatment is mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual.”

I don’t know what to think about all this since it doesn’t sound anything like Forest Hills. For a moment I think perhaps I am being tricked again and glance over my shoulder, partially expecting the guys in the white lab coats to bust in here any minute and drag me away.

Simon climbs down from the ladder and looks around. “Wow. I think we’re done here. You did a really good job, Alice.”

I smile for the second time and wonder if by tomorrow my face will be sore from this unusual activity. “Thanks. It was kind of fun.”

Just then we begin to hear strains of Christmas music, and Julie appears with a plate of cookies. “I guess I should’ve put that music on while you kids were decorating, to get you into the proper Christmas spirit, you know. But better late than never.” Then she stops and looks around. “Hey, you guys are really good. That mantel looks spectacular. Did you do that, Simon?”

He shakes his head and points to me. “That was Alice’s work.”

She holds the cookie dish out toward me. “Then you get first pick here.”

I hesitate, glancing over at Simon, then back at her. I wonder if there might be something in the cookies, like poison or a sedative.

“It’s okay,” she says. “They’re made with real butter, but you look like you could afford a few extra calories.”

So I take a candy cane–shaped cookie, then wait as Simon takes
one just like mine. Playing Simon says again, I follow his lead and take a bite only after he has taken one first. I suspect he knows what I am doing.

“So, Alice, are you coming back to our little party tonight?” asks Julie as she takes a bite of a Santa cookie.

“Yeah,” says Simon eagerly. “Why don’t you come back with me?”

I don’t know what to say now. The room looks so pretty that the idea of a party sounds surprisingly appealing. Yet I’m still not convinced that this isn’t just an elaborate trick, a setup to reel me in. However, it does occur to me that this is a whole lot of trouble for someone to go to just to set me up. But you never know. In a twisted way, it seems like the sort of trap that someone like Pastor John might arrange, especially since he’s so opposed to Christmas decorations and parties and such. I can just imagine him rubbing his hands together and thinking, “Aha, we’ve got her now.” Pretty tricky really. “I, uh, I don’t know,” I finally manage to stammer.

“Oh come on,” urges Simon. “I think you’ll enjoy it. We’re all a little nutty around here, but we’re a lot of fun. Right, Julie?”

She nods. “You got that right.” She leans over and peers at me. “But you better be warned. We don’t let the ‘normal’ people come, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” says Simon. “They are much too boring.”

“And ordinary,” she adds.

I look from one to the other and wonder if they are pulling something over on me, but despite my misgivings, they seem sincere.

“Say you’ll come,” says Simon.

“I’ll come,” I repeat the words, wondering why on earth I did. Then I remember the game. I guess I’m just playing it too well.

“Great!” Julie grins. “Well, I better get back to the kitchen. Guess I’ll see you two around seven then.”

It’s already getting dusky as we drive along the curvy road that leads back down the hill. I want to tell Simon that I’ve changed my mind, that I’ve made a huge mistake, but he is talking about his work now. He’s telling me how great Dr. Golden is and how he’ll probably win the Nobel prize someday. I just sit there like a dummy and listen, wishing that everything he’s saying might actually be true.